


Grenade

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Phillip is an Honorary Barnum, Protective Charity, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: The fever comes on subtly, then all at once. To say Phineas falls would be an understatement.





	Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> apparently a lot of people wanted sick, angsty p.t., and i love seeing gorgeous characters suffer as much as the next girl
> 
> also it’s flu season y’all. stay safe!

The fever begins subtly; one evening, after ballet practice, Caroline starts coughing.

By bedtime that night, she is broiling with fever. Phineas and Charity lay her down in the bed they share together, now given up for Caroline’s comfort. They kiss her, they smooth her hair back, and promise they won’t leave her during the night.

Helen, sleepy and concerned for her older sister, is ushered to her own room. She settles down in the bed she usually shares with her sister, and eyes her father dolefully over the blankets. She’s always hated sleeping alone.

“Only for a night,” Phineas promises, kissing the top of her little blonde head. “By tomorrow, I’m sure the two of you will be back together again.”

His prediction comes true — not in the way he hoped. The next night Helen is also burning up, and the two girls are laid in their parents’ room side by side.

Charity nurses them while Phineas fetches a doctor. He arrives a little before midnight; all he can do is take the girls’ temperatures, prescribe some tonics, and tell the parents to keep them cool. They’ll have to come out of it on their own.

For the next week, Caroline and Helen do little besides sleep; Phineas and Charity do anything but. When they girls are awake, they’re wracked by chills that border on convulsions. Their coughing fits torment their entire body, sweat drenches their hair and clothes, and the _fever…_ the fever won’t go down.

Sometime during the night, Charity will inevitably pass out in a chair by her daughters’ bedside. Phineas isn’t so lucky. He stays up, pacing. He walks the length of their house, through the hallways, outside the girls’ door. Whenever he hears a cough, he comes rushing back in the room. Inevitably, the girls are still asleep, or fall back quickly.

It’s pure agony. There is nothing for him to do but watch, worry, and wait.

On the sixth day, the storm passes. Helen’s fever is the first to break, sometime around dawn. By lunch, she’s sitting up in bed and eagerly gulping down a light breakfast. Caroline’s sickness lingers until that night, but by morning she too is ready to venture out of bed.

Phineas and Charity all but collapse into each other’s arms when they’re finally alone. The relief is overwhelming. Their family is safe, together, and healthy once again. The week of turmoil is over.

So it seems.

* * *

On Sunday, Phineas returns home from the circus and picks at his dinner; his appetite isn’t all there. He lets Caroline have his potatoes, and Helen have his peas (she likes to shoot them at the open window when their mother isn’t looking; sometimes, they make it outside). Charity doesn’t fail to notice.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks that night as her husband slips on his nightshirt. Phineas looks over his shoulder and offers a lackluster smile.

“Fine, of course. Just a headache is all.”

She stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t say a word. He slips in bed next to her and tries to brush away her concern with a quick kiss. When Charity loops an arm around his waist, he sighs heavily; her touch feels better than it would any other night, like a balm to his aching limbs. He pulls her close and relishes the comfort she brings.

“I’ll wake up in the morning good as new,” he whispers.

This promise, unlike the one he made to Helen, has no intention of carrying through.

* * *

“Daddy… Daddy?”

Phineas forces his eyes open to the sound of a quiet voice. There are tiny hands locked around his arm, shaking him. He already knows what he’ll see when he turns over; his eldest daughter peering at him over the edge of the bed isn’t a surprise.

“Caroline?” he mutters. His throat aches; it feels swollen and thick, hard to breathe past, let alone swallow. His daughter’s face seems to swim in front of him.

He struggles to make sense of what’s happening around him. The room is dark. Charity’s body is warm beside him. Unsteadily he pushes himself up, shaking his head to orient himself. “It’s still… still dark out, what are you doing awake?”

“I heard a noise,” she says in a tiny, anxious voice. “I think it was Woollabear.”

 _Woollabear_ is the monster that sneaks through children’s windows in the night and bites off their toes, one by one. The girls heard the story from someone at the circus (no one is willing to cop up to it, but Phineas noticed Tom looking guilty, and a little amused, when confronted). Helen is excited by the idea of a toe-eating monster, but Caroline’s been terrified of him since Day One.

She probably heard tree branches clattering outside her window, and let her imagination run wild. There’s no chance of her going back to bed until she’s reassured. “Alright,” Phineas sighs, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s go chase that no-good Woollabear away.”

When he pulls himself to his feet, his entire body protests. His muscles burn when he puts pressure on them, not strong enough to support his weight. This is nothing compared to the spinning. As soon as he’s up, the world tilts on its axis, and he nearly falls right back down again. An involuntary groan slips past his lips.

“Are you okay?” Caroline sounds even more worried than before. Phineas looks down at her and forces a smile.

“Just fine, honey.”

She leads him by the hand down the long hallway towards the girls’ room. (Phineas refuses to admit that her support is necessary to keep him on his feet.) Her bare feet are light against the carpet compared to his heavy, wavering steps. By the time they slip back into her room, Phineas feels like the world is spinning around him.

He makes his way over to the window and peers outside. There’s a strong wind tonight; the trees sway with it. (Though maybe Phineas himself is doing the swaying.) He makes a show of opening the window up, peering outside for any invisible intruders. “No more funny business, Woollabear!” he calls out before slamming it shut. He presses down on the sill, before latching it tight. After he’s done, he stands back to let Caroline inspect his work.

(This has become a routine over the past month. Phineas has become _very_ good at chasing away Woollabear. Next time he sees Tom, he decides he’s putting him on elephant dung cleaning duty for the indefinite future.)

After a moment, Caroline heaves a relieved sigh. “Okay, he’s gone,” she declares. Phineas leads her back to bed, tucks her in, and runs a hand over her head.

“Your hand is warm, Daddy,” Caroline mutters, already sounding half-asleep. Phineas pauses, not knowing how to reply. He doesn’t have to. By the time he straightens up, Caroline’s eyes are completely shut.

He makes his way towards the door, swaying on his feet like a ship on stormy seas. His head is pounding; each pulse of pain sends a new wave of dizziness washing over him, threatening to sweep him away. Once he reaches the hallway, he has to stop and brace himself against the doorframe, closing his eyes against the awful vertigo.

The back of his mind is screaming that this isn’t normal. Something is _very wrong._ The largest part of him, however, just wants to get back to bed. Bed is warm, and comfortable, and Charity is by his side. Bed would be much preferable to standing in the middle of the hallway, rocking on his own feet.

He makes it halfway to his room before he has to stop and lean against the wall. If he takes another step, he’s sure he’ll fall over. His back presses against the wallpaper as he slowly slides to the floor.

At least the carpet is clean and comfortable. It’s not his bed, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. The most important thing is that Phineas is lying down.

His eyes slip shut before he can even contemplate keeping them open. He tumbles head over heels into the uneasy blackness of sleep.

* * *

When he wakes again, it is to the smell of violets, and someone cradling his head in their lap.

He knows it is Charity immediately. He would recognize her soft hands anywhere. When he stirs, the voice over him only confirms it.

“Phin, darling. You’ve got to get to bed. Do you think you can stand up for me?”

He forces his eyes open to see Charity, silhouetted by a halo of bright light. She is an angel. Everything about her seems to glow, from her golden hair to the warmth brimming in her gentle face.

“Chairy,” he breathes, the familiar nickname leaving his lips as easy as breathing. “You’re beautiful.”

Charity laughs softly, but something about it rings false. Phineas cannot put his finger on what it is? Is she unhappy? Worried? Something is bothering her, he can tell, but figuring out what seems so difficult right now. His head aches.

“I need you to stand up, Phin,” she says again. This time, she sounds more urging. “Can you do that?”

He’s not sure, but he nods his head anyways. He can try. Charity needs him to, and he’ll do anything for her.

Even rolling onto his side is a monumental effort, though — and as soon as he sits up, all the energy seems to drain out of him at once. He slumps bonelessly forward into Charity’s arms, a tiny groan escaping him. Every move sends new shockwaves of pain coursing through his head. He can’t… he just _can’t._

“‘M sorry,” he mutters. Charity smooths down his curls, hushing him, and allows his head to fall against her chest.

“It’s okay, darling. It’s okay.”

He’s not really sure what happens after that. Everything is hazy; he is like a boat adrift on the sea, unable to tether himself to anything for long. He hears Charity talking to the girls… hears her call for their butler… feels stronger hands on his shoulders, lifting him to his feet.

He doesn’t lose his balance once he’s standing, which is a victory. He has to lean heavily against the two sets of arms supporting him, but he manages to drag himself into their bedroom. Finally, _finally,_ he makes it to bed. Phineas collapses against the pillows.

“Frank,” says Charity to their butler, “summon Mr. Phillip Carlyle here, quickly. Tell him to bring a doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” comes Frank’s voice. Footsteps thud against the floor. The room is silent again, too quiet. The sudden, incomprehensible fear that he’s been left alone descends over Phineas like a smothering curtain.

He moans to himself, struggling to turn over. He can’t be alone — he _can’t._ He spent so long alone before, back when he was small and cold, him against the world… it’s not supposed to be that way now. Things are supposed to be better. He _can’t_ be alone again…

“Mmm —” he groans. “Charity —“

_“Shhh.”_

The hands that glance over his back feel like heaven. Charity guides him up in bed, helping him turn over until he’s lying on his back; then her sure, careful hands ease off his shirt. Phineas didn’t realize how hot the clothing was making him until it’s removed. He blinks hazily up at her, struggling to make sense of what’s going on. He’s only sure of one thing: she’s _here._

“Don’t leave me again,” he whispers. Charity stares at him for a moment, surprise shining in her sweet eyes.

“I won’t, Phin,” she finally answers, caressing the side of his face. “Never.”

* * *

By the time Phillip gets there, whatever shred of energy that had been keeping Phineas awake and semi-coherent has exhausted itself. He slips into a fitful sleep soon after his head lands against the pillows. All Charity can do is stay by his side, sponging down his burning brow and chest with cool water. Each moment that passes without a doctor is more agonizing than the last.

The confusion she felt early that morning, when her daughters both woke her in panic (“Mommy, something’s wrong with Daddy! He won’t get up!”) was nothing compared to the bone-deep fear that seized her the moment she saw Phineas lying in the hallway. He was slumped over, limp and lifeless. His skin was ashy; his hair clung to his face. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. For one awful moment, she was sure she lost her husband.

Phineas woke to her insistent touch, though — _woke_ being a relative term. The only thing he seemed aware of was her; he didn’t even have the strength to sit up. Delirium had a complete hold on him. Just touching his burning skin told Charity that his fever was dangerously high.

That was the moment she took control. She sent the household scrambling — Frank to summon Phillip and a doctor, their maid Clara to bring her cool washcloths and water, the girls to go make their father tea (that he probably won’t be able to drink, but the girls were frightened and needed to feel useful). She got Phineas to bed, sat by his side… and waited.

Waiting is the most dreadful part. When the girls were sick, she did enough waiting to last a lifetime. The thought of losing their children was a phantom, looming over their shoulders, haunting the edges of her vision. It seemed at once incomprehensible and all too real.

But to lose _Phineas…_

She gazes down at his slack face and swallows hard. She won’t allow it. Her stubborn, impossible husband has been a fighter his entire life. She won’t let him give up now.

“Come on, Phin,” she mutters, cupping his clammy cheek. “I know you can break through this. Don’t you go anywhere either.”

She sits, and she waits, as the clock on the wall winds well into the morning. Forty minutes after her initial summons, Phillip’s footsteps sound on the stairs — followed by ones she doesn’t recognize.

“Mama, Phillip’s here!” Helen bellows out — unnecessarily. Phillip already stands in the doorway, taking in the scene before him with unmasked shock.

“Barnum, you damned liar,” he mutters, baring his teeth. “I knew something wasn’t right with him last night.”

Charity knew as well — Phineas is a lot of things, but subtle has never been one of them. She’s known something was wrong, but let it go. (Maybe a part of her just couldn’t stand to worry about anyone else, not after the week she just had with her daughters.) She let it be, and now Phineas is…

Swallowing hard, she slides off the bed and allows the doctor to do his work.

She converses with Phillip in low tones as the doctor conducts his exam. The story of Phineas’s listlessness last night has Phillip sighing. When Charity tells him how the family found him in the hallway, something in the younger man’s face grows unbearably sympathetic. He pulls her into his arms. Charity returns the embrace with a fierceness; she hadn’t realized how much she needed it until that moment.

“It’s going to be okay,” Phillip tells her, smoothing down her hair. “P.T. Barnum is one of the most stubborn men I’ve met in my life. He won’t let this keep him down for long.”

Charity knows he’s right; but the urge to cry still lingers in the back of her throat. She cannot escape that persistent little voice that insists, _you should be doing more._

* * *

Phineas wakes up again screaming.

The claws of his dreams still have a hold on him. They embed themselves in vulnerable flesh, piercing his most vital organs. He writhes and thrashes against the confinement of sheets around his legs. Try as he might, he can’t get free. Horrific images still cloud his mind. Everyone he loves walking away, leaving him. Stumbling backwards and falling down a deep well into obscurity and isolation. Utter darkness swallowing him up. Being forgotten. Ceasing to have ever existed at all.

He doesn’t realize where he is until he feels hands on his shoulders, holding him down. This only increases his panic.

_“... alright, P.T., you’re… calm down… stop… Barnum!”_

It’s the shout of his name that jolts him to semi-lucidity. His eyes shoot open wide, only to be confronted with Phillip’s familiar face.

He didn’t expect to see his apprentice here. His last memories are hazy, but they are filled with Charity, falling asleep in her arms. He’s almost certain that Phillip wasn’t here before, and seeing him now only increases his confusion.

“I don’t —“ he pants out, barely able to speak through his panic. “What’s… where’s Charity?”

Phillip’s eyes flicker across the room. Automatically, Phineas cranes his head to look. He’s surprised to see Charity propped up in a chair near the door. Her posture is loose and slumped, as if she were asleep; but the tension in her body negates that assumption. Her entire form is rigid. Her eyes are wide and awake, locked on her husband as if she’s just been startled.

She must have been sleeping, Phineas realizes. His screaming woke her up.

“Are you alright, darling?” Charity says in a low, tentative voice. Phineas tries to speak, but chokes.

His thoughts are a chaotic mess, impossible to sort through. Panic has him by the throat, choking him; his entire body feels as if it’s burning. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t even calm himself down. He still feels like he’s in a free-fall, dropping into obscurity with no one below to catch him.

_They’re going to leave. Everyone is going to leave you. They’ll all forget you. Nothing you’ve done really matters._

He chokes again, and turns his head to hide the shame of his tear-streaked face. Now that he’s no longer thrashing, Phillip’s hold on him loosens up. He has no clue how to react to seeing his mentor crying, and Phineas can’t blame him. What sort of man is he, allowing himself to break down like this?

“It’s alright, Phin.” At once, Charity is at his side. Her gentle hands cup his tear-lined cheek. “Everything’s okay. You’re sick and feverish, that’s all the nightmares are. Your body is just healing.”

“I —“ he sputters, gasping and screwing his burning face up. “Don’t forget me, god, don’t go away —“

“Never, darling,” she whispers (and he remembers her saying that before, the exact words with the exact same fierceness). “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, by your side. I’m going to make sure you get better.”

“Chairy…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m not a good man.”

“That’s not true, Phin.”

“I’m not — I’ll never be anything. I hurt you, and hurt the girls, and can’t give you the life you need, and — _alone,_ I’ll be alone —“

His feverish rambling is cut off by the press of lips against his own. Anything else he could gasp out is swallows down by Charity’s kiss. Her hands cup his head, determined, while her mouth moves against his own. After a few seconds she breaks away, unperturbed.

Phineas’s entire mind has gone blank. Charity always has an indescribable effect on him, but being kissed like that now — he’s lucky he can remember his own name. He blinks up at her, hazy and disoriented, and inhaled an unsteady breath.

“You’re going to get sick too,” he tells her.

She doesn’t look concerned. “I’ve been fine this far. I think I can handle it.”

From Phineas’s other side, Phillip huffs out a disbelieving chuckle. Charity looks up at him, and something determined sparks in her eyes.

“Alright,” she says. “You need to get more rest. Come on.”

She slips into bed next to him without hesitation; Phineas’s head is guided down to rest on her chest. He doesn’t realize what Charity’s plan is until she looks up and catches her nodding at Phillip.

A second later, the bed shifts as his friend makes himself comfortable. A hand comes to rest on Phineas’s shoulders. Slowly, Phillip begins to rub back and forth in a comforting rhythm.

“Take it easy, Barnum,” Phillip mutters. “Neither of us are going anywhere. You’re not going to be alone tonight.”

Both bodies are solid against his own, drawing him in like an embrace. Such proximity does nothing to alleviate the feeling of burning up, but that isn’t important. Phineas couldn’t care less. The point is, they’re here. The love of his life is holding him; his apprentice and best friend is keeping him grounded. They’re both here to look after him.

He isn’t alone at all.

It’s enough to allow Phineas to slip into fevered sleep once more. This time, his dreams are much kinder.

* * *

After five days, Phineas’s fever breaks. There’s really no way to express what a relief it is for the entire household.

It wasn’t just Charity running herself ragged with worry. Phillip found himself at the Barnum house every day, helping in any way he could. He entertained the girls, both of whom were distraught over their father’s condition; he directed the servants, and even helped them when he could. Phillip took over the Barnum household in the absence of their two heads, both of whom were reasonably distracted.

Some of the circus members visit too, bearing fresh fruits and homemade cures. Lettie knows a salve guaranteed to get any fever down; Chang and Eng provide a tea recipe that tastes awful, but does wonders for Phineas’s cough. He doesn’t see any of his visitors, but their contributions are appreciated.

His greatest constant is Charity. No matter what time it is, how he’s feeling, or how exhausted she is, Charity is always there.

When Phineas opens clear eyes one morning at noon, he doesn’t see her. This is what he realizes first. He has no idea his fever has broken until he is able to sit up on his own, and the world no longer spins around him.

His throat still aches, but he can breathe. Speaking isn’t half the trial it was before. “Charity?”

A handful of seconds pass. Then, suddenly Charity appears, a whirlwind of pink silk and a startled expression. “Phin! You’re sitting up!”

“Yeah, I... I feel better.” It takes a moment for him to get the word out, as if reality still hasn’t sunk in. He can barely believe he’s been sick at all. Now his wife looks close to tears at seeing him sitting up in bed. “I think I’m over the worst of it.”

Charity presses the back of her hand to his forehead for just a second. At once, years worth of worry melts off her face. She looks young, relieved, overjoyed. “You’re cool!” she exclaims. “Your fever broke!”

“It’s gone.” Phineas huffs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Everything’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” Charity echoes. She sounds tearful. When she presses herself against Phineas, he finally has enough energy to hold her close to him. He hasn’t been able to do that since the night before he fell ill. Just being able to clutch his wife is a luxury he hadn’t realized he missed.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he mutters into her hair, “but you should be declared a saint. God, I love you. I’m so sorry I worried you.”

Charity laughs into the side of his head. “Don’t you dare apologize. Just never scare me like that again.”

That’s a promise Phineas feels safe in making.

* * *

They don’t talk about what happened during the throes of his fever. There’s no opportunity, really. The girls are so happy to have their father back that they’re in a tizzy all day long. Phineas feels well enough for a light dinner, so he joins his family at the dining table that night. Phillip shows up too, with Anne on his arm. She brings W.D., who brings Lettie, who brings tidings from the whole circus, and more. The night is almost too much for Phineas. He’s thrilled to be back amongst his people (and the living) but by the time he heads up to bed, he’s exhausted.

Phillip certainly doesn’t bring it up. As he’s leaving, though, he grips Phineas’s shoulder a bit tighter than usual in farewell.

“You’ve got a lot of people happy to see you well again,” Phillip tells him. His unspoken words ring even louder. _You matter to them more than you could imagine._

Phineas just smiles. “Give them all my thanks. I’ll get back to the show as soon as I’m able.”

He's missed his troupe, too.

That night, in bed with Charity — really with her, for the first time since he fell sick — a pair of lips press to his temple.

“Never doubt how many people care about you, Phin,” she whispers. “You’ve done great things in your life. You’ve helped people. You’ve made a difference, and because of that, you never have to worry about being alone.”

His face flushes — not from fever. He never intended to lay his deepest insecurities out for the world to see. Now that they’re no longer swirling inside of him, however, he feels lighter for their absence.

“As long as you’re with me,” he answers, resting his chin on top of Charity’s head, “I know that I never will.”

**Author's Note:**

> please don’t go kissing any sick people, please, it probably won’t end well
> 
> (charity’s just a BAMF)


End file.
